I’ve skinned the rabbit
And laid waste to the endless assault of horoscopes
I’ve gone and pushed away the lone
Birds that tweet sweet sing songs in my ears lately

Perhaps I could warm my cold bones
On a burning tiger who roams the flat plains
Too hungry to play in the puddles of fun
With eyes only for the dying young

I’ve come across the melting lands
That have borne down upon the global landslide
Of humanity, influenced by plastic heavens
Too many hurricanes and exploding reactors

Perhaps the rat will save the forever burdened
Dogs of paradise who scare the gangly strangers
With a smile and surfacing anger
Left alone for too long and we’ve got trouble
We’ve got too many lonely dogs that have
Gone stray with troubled warriors
Lost on a beaten path that plays havoc
With the astrologers mind

Perhaps tomorrow will arise with high-class
Windswept caravans. The kind that beg for you
To abuse it with spray paint and sharpies
Perhaps then I shall walk with the dark sun

I’ve seen your innocent eyes stare down the tunnel at the mysterious lights beaming afar
The concentration burrowing deeply into your mouth like a cold cup of tea
With slivers of lemons helping ease the heavy burden pulling
At the leftover blankets slowly pushed to the foot of the bed and
Sent to the lover with stamped on confessions of postal intent

I’ve seen your glitter in the spotlights as you sway back and forth
Enjoying the eyes as much as enjoying the floor for which you project out
Your deepest of feelings impulse by impulse like a rhythmic machine gun
Shouting into the night in a blaze of glory, wounded hearts, and
Sweet drinks that roll off your tongue in unrelenting expressions

I’ve felt your enigmatic charm work it’s warm fingers around my neck
Slowly twisting and turning into the back seat of a foreign sports car
Emergency brakes and slow tunes that make you lay back, legs up
Into the deep plans that formulate as if the air you breath
Small Christmas lights float around the room like a performer can

And I’ve come back for more, like a hungry panther prowling in the night
Parking in number four to piss off the neighbors that don’t like elephants
Hanging around their back doors, we still invite old handbags and discarded novels
To collect at the end of the hallway in an act of sharing randomness
Forgotten quickly with a heavy wooden door with a slight twist and cold that doesn’t turn on anymore

Sweet sunsets and mangled reminders of the only stages you’ve ever stepped on that collapsed under your pressure and exploded into your dreams of the last days on earth.

Brought to you by the evanescence, the ultra cool but oh so very hot glow that recorded the passing of time with little whispers that spoke to you like a hard boiled egg or a clinking glass of scotch [on the rocks].

Deeper, deeper I desired as I swayed to the easy listening of the devil’s music that crunched my ear drums like the vibrating stool I now sit on.

Perhaps it’s the toxicity of the room that invites me to pray upon my victim with relentless desires only my dilated pupils can explain away as if I was some mute teenager sneaking out the back door a gunnysack full of father’s liquor.

Did I ever run away from that devious sight I had designed from the first time that I set a foot on your precious neck?

I’ve lost two dollars to the little man we’ve befriended for bets that I’ve drunkenly took and never intended to see through till the end like the lot would have hoped I would have.

Yet, like the flame throwing dummies burnt up in the all to familiar smoke of the madness, I too have found my glory box hidden deep beneath my sock drawer with my fifty dollar bills where no man shall ever speak of.

I salute you, tiny panther, I salute your devilish glare as you circle your pray and wait for their moment of weakness and slaughter them in a feast of all that has been and shall ever come to pass.

This is good.

This feeds both our souls.

This proves that the only thing that has ever rolled from the base of this lone tree that stands in our way was the rupture of happiness.

And forever I shall witness the spiderwebs slowly creep further into the corners of my eyes until one day they too shall bear witness to the struggling undergrowth that shall be sworn to secrecy with the stomping foots of the passing time.

Dare to lay down this sinister dish and feed upon my gravely voice and dried up blood spots.

The sun slowly drips its honey across my face
Sweating out last nights essence with tea
I hold the governance of all things unsaid
I will not bear the shame of almost was
I will not hear the un-named called on the hour
When dogs will scurry into their unmarked graves
Calling like the coyote into the night
With an uncontrollable longing for what is lost
What is gone, and what has been forgotten

The spots of glare fascinate this glossy mind
As it winds its way through the spiral of decay
Memorizing the lines of an old Hemingway poem
Like the underside of a frequently-thumbed sack
And no, there will be no last dance as the wind hits my back
There will be no sweet romance with the birds and the bees
While the clock slowly ticks it’s monotonous rhythm
However long shall thou steal away into the night?
Long forgotten whispers remain seated on the knit of my brow